


write me a post-it love story

by MercuryM



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Elevators, F/M, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Neighbors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 16:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13685319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercuryM/pseuds/MercuryM
Summary: Look, Clarke didn't mean to start a friendship over post-its but somehow that's exactly what she did. Now if only she could tell her heart not to fall in love with a stranger that'd be great.(Too late, Clarke,too damn late.)





	write me a post-it love story

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twilightstargazer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightstargazer/gifts).



> Hi, Nai and Happy Valentine's Day! I hope it's a great and lovely day, and you have a lot of chocolate/cake and wine to celebrate!! I know it's on a school day but hopefully they gave you a bit of a breather :))))
> 
> Now, I know I asked you if I can post your fic in two parts because it was getting too long and I couldn't finish it all. Well... this is **not** that fic, lmao. I didn't manage to write the entirety of the first part and as such I wrote you something shorter and lighter than what I had originally planned. Sorry about that and if you're interested in that other fic just poke me and I'm going to spill everything. Okay, maybe not everything but! it's the thought that counts, right? 
> 
> Jokes aside, I hope you enjoy reading this and you find it to your taste. Stay awesome, xoxo

Their love started like everything else in Clarke’s life - unbidden, sudden, with a chance to pass her by without her even realizing it was a possibility.

It started on a rushed Thursday when Clarke had forgotten her alarm and was running late for work. The elevator had been out of order again, stuck on the second floor, and she had raced down the stairs, hair in disarray and scarf trailing behind her like a sad lost puppy.

She had just reached the entrance when she had slipped, her foot landing on few stray papers and making her land on her butt rather heavily. Coffee spilled and yelling curses left and right, she had gotten up and kicked at the papers in anger, almost stomping on them in retaliation with her dirty boots.

At the last possible moment, she had seen the red ink staining the pages and she had refrained, more curious than angry. The papers all had different names, childish letterings retelling the story of Ganymede of Troy. Some of the writings had made her chuckle, so she had gathered them up and propped them against the wall, figuring somebody had dropped them in a haste - the red ink was thoughtfully applied, seemingly with lot of care.

She had been almost out of door when she came back, pulling out a wrinkled yellow post-it note from her backpack, quickly scribbling few words on it and sticking it next to the papers, just for kicks if nothing else.

Then she had raced to catch her bus just to miss it by a narrow margin. (It had rained, of course, and she had no umbrella; it had been one of _those_ days.)

She had forgotten all about the incident by the end of the day and the reply caught her by surprise.

 

 

 

 

It had stopped raining by the time she came back from work. And thank God for that because Clarke had one of her worst days in _years_.

First, she had forgotten to set her alarm last night and had woken up because of her upstairs neighbours who had been arguing again. Then she had burned her toast, broken her favourite travel mug _and_ spilled her coffee, not to mention the bruises she was sprouting on her ass that made it hard to sit. And work - well, work had been a _disaster_.

This week she was painting this superhero mural for a children’s hospital and she was almost done with it, just to go to work today and find out that the hospital’s director wanted to change everything about it.

_It’s not bright enough_ , he had said, _not as cartoon-ish as I had imagined_.

And Clarke, Clarke was ready to _murder_ him.

She had worked on the design three whole weeks because nothing she did was to his liking and when, at last, they had agreed on a version, he had the guts to say he wanted it repainted.

“Well, fuck him,” Raven said as Clarke told her about her day, phone propped against her shoulder and key turning the lock of her apartment building.

Clarke huffed and hugged her grocery bag tighter. “Believe me, if it wasn’t for the kids I would have dropped this job straight away.” Her key jammed and she nearly hit herself in the eye when she finally got it out of the lock. “But the kids-  you have no idea how excited they got when they saw me carrying all my supplies to the garden. They’ve been following my progress every day and can’t wait to see it finished. Hell, I added few superheroes because of their wishes.”

Raven tsked, “Softy.”

“Yeah,” Clarke laughed, sending a silent prayer to every god and goddess that existed in the world - the elevator was _working_.

“So what now? Are you going to repaint it?”

“Oh, fuck no. We signed a contract and my only obligation is to finish the mural based on the version we had both agreed upon the signing. I’m not doing the same mistake twice.” She shuddered just thinking of the Arkadia Playschool’s fiasco - she had to repaint the outside mural four times until the Head teacher had been happy about it.

Thanks but no thanks.

She finished her conversation with Raven while checking her mailbox and headed for the elevator, mail in hand.

As usual, the mirror was full of fingerprints and dust, and Clarke barely glanced at it, just to whip her head around and stare at the two green post-it notes stuck on it.

 

_Thanks for not throwing my papers away and sorry for making you spill your coffee!_

said the first one, followed by

_Have a fiver on me to make up for your morning (please don’t steal the money!!) :)_

 

The five dollar bill was missing, of course (if there ever was one). But Clarke was more intrigued by the handwriting - the blocky black letters were written just as carefully as the red ones she had seen on the papers and the thought behind the gesture had her smiling genuinely for the second time that day.

Her hand we’re full of groceries and mail, and Clarke had to wait rather impatiently to reach the fifth floor, open her door, free her arms and go back to the elevator to grab the post-its.

As an afterthought she rummaged through her backpack for another stray yellow post-it note and upon finding one, wrote back to the mystery person.

 

_The money was gone but thanks anyways. I liked Peter’s version of Ganymede’s myth best, don’t you dare fail him._

 

And then she sketched a little teddy bear, with furrowed dark eyebrows. She contemplated using one more post-it, but she was out of things to say and decided against it.

 

 

 

Two days later, she got a reply -

 

_Our neighbours have no shame. And Peter’s my favourite pupil but don’t tell anyone!_

 

There was a crude imitation of her bear in the lower right corner, with one messy paw drawn in front of its mouth, as if to hold in a secret.

Clarke smiled and tucked the post-it inside her sketchbook, next to the other two that she had stuffed inside it on a whim.

She dropped by the local bookshop on the way to work to stock up on post-its.

Just in case.

 

 

 

 

Three weeks later, Clarke had acquired fifteen new green post-its, with the same blocky handwriting, ranging from exclamation marks, sad and sleepy teddy bears-

 

_You haven’t watched Treasure Island? We can no longer be friends ; < _

and-

_I think I prefer the myth about Atlas. Depressing as hell but there’s something reassuring about imagining a being that holds the world on his shoulders and keeps enduring everything thrown his way._

to-

_Hope you didn’t spill your coffee today!_

 

Sometimes it was something very silly, or miscellaneous, sometimes something a bit deeper, more thoughtful.

Clarke didn’t know what to think about her pen pal - _B_ as they had started to sign their post-its - they seemed fun and snarky, nerdy in a way that she liked. She couldn’t really tell if they were flirting or not (a bit hard to figure out over post-its) but nonetheless Clarke kept the green messages safe, like little treasure boxes that she looked at every now and then when she needed a break, something to make her smile.

Clarke propped her laptop open, Netflix greeting her from the screen.

 

_Sci-fi? Definitely try The Expanse. (Shohreh Aghdashloo is !!!)_

If nothing else they had good taste.

 

 

 

This thing was getting out of hand.

She had run out of two stacks of post-its and she had gotten just about that much in return.

Her pen pal - Bellamy, male, around 25-ish, middle school history teacher - knew more about her life than any other friend of hers.

Somehow, over the span of two months, she had shared with him more about her character and habits, likes and dislikes than she had with her ex boyfriends and girlfriends with whom she had been together for more than an year.

Clarke had taken to staring suspiciously at every one of her neighbours that she could catch when she was out and about, trying to figure out if they fit in with the image she had of Bellamy.

She knew that he was somewhat tall, often had his nose buried in a book, missed his dad’s filipino dishes, hated to wear dress shirts because the collars bothered him, was a pretty good airsoft player and could tell her every single thing there was to know about the ancient greek civilization like it was nothing. She knew his favourite colour (dark blue), the way he made his pupils interested in anything Ancient Greece or Roman (Rick Riordan’s books), why he has been single for a while (lack of time and interest), and the way he likes his peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (cut in triangles, with banana slices in the middle).

Clarke also knew she was stupidly in love with him and she didn’t even know what his face looked like.

 

 

 

 

_Sorry for not answering sooner. I’m dead on my feet this week *sketch of a crying bear*_

_Just quit your job if it makes you so unhappy._

_It’s not the job, it’s the people. Plus, the kids aren’t at fault and I like seeing them light up with happiness._ _  
_ _Can’t just quit on them._

_Ah, you’re one of those ‘til the last man standing’ people, aren’t you?_

_Bellamy, this is not a book plot._

_Hey, keep my books out of this!_ _  
_ _But seriously, have you thought of doing something else?_

_Idk. I feel kinda lost rn._

_*sketch of a bear hugging another bear*_

 

 

 

_Did I say I love my friends? Because I hate my friends._

_Um lol? What did they do?_

_Set me on a blind date without telling me. Needless to say that it went awful._

_Ouch, that bad?_

_I mean it probably would have gone better if it wasn’t with this girl that stabbed me in the back few years ago._ _  
_ _The two of us could be the last people on Earth and I still wouldn’t date her._

_Damn, that’s harsh._  
_Bad friends >;/ _  
_Hey, did I tell you about the time my best friend and I broke into the principal’s liquor cabinet when we were fourteen?_

_No way, goody two shoes Clarke broke into the principal’s liquor cache?_

_What can I say, I was a rebel from a young age._  
_(But also the principal was my friend’s dad and we had a key.)_ _  
((And if you think I’m a goody two shoes then you don’t know me as well as you think.))_

_Bellamy: 0, Clarke: 1  
_ _So what happened?_

 

 

 

“For God’s sake, Clarke, ask this guy out already! It’s been what, three months?” Raven said as she bought the second round of drinks for the night.

Clarke choked on her martini. “What? No, Raven don’t be ridiculous.”

Raven rolled her eyes at her. “Have you looked at a mirror lately? Because the only ridiculous person in here is _you_.”

Clarke just scoffed and fiddled with her glass, drowning the martini in few big gulps and dragging Raven to the dance floor before the Latina had the chance to object.

In all the years Clarke had been friends with Raven she had learned something very important - if you wanted Raven to shut up, you just make her dance to a dirty beat. Even her superbrain shut off while dancing among a sweaty crowd.

(A bit too late however as the thought of dating had burrowed inside Clarke’s mind.)

 

 

 

Still hungover from last night, Clarke fiddled with her pen, bringing it to and away from the yellow sticky pad, still torn over what to do.

On one hand, meeting Bellamy and seeing if they can hit it off face-to-face just as easily as over sticky notes would be amazing. On the other hand, if Clarke somehow hated him on sight, their friendship would fall through and she would miss their conversations, terribly at that.

Ugh, dilemmas, she hated them with a passion she usually reserved for her most inconsistent clients.

At the end, she gathered her courage and scrawled few words before changing her mind and peeling off the post-it, throwing it in her trash bin, where it joined the pile of yellow stickies that had been dealt with in the same way.

“Goddammit.” She hit her head few times against her kitchen table and then groaned when her headache spiked.

Being in love was the _worst_.

 

 

 

Two weeks later - and thirteen more green post-its added to her collection - Clarke was making her way towards the supermarket. She had run out of gummy bears and popcorn, and she needed both for her annual _The Mummy_ rewatch.

On the way down the elevator stopped on the fourth floor and Clarke moved to the side, lost in thought and not really paying attention to her surroundings, or the guy that entered. She was on the cusp of deciding if she should get ice-cream as well, when something green caught her eye. A shade of green that was _very_ familiar.

She could only watch as the guy pulled out a pen and wrote a few sentences on the post-its before turning around and sticking them on the mirror. Noticing her eyes on him, he gave her a sheepish smile and carded his fingers through his messy dark curls.

“It’s ah- a _thing_ I do with Cl- this friend of mine.” He gave her a shrug and tried not to shift under the weight of her stare.

Clarke- she couldn’t understand what she was seeing. Her brain had shut off. Was this a joke?

She tried no to be obvious as she was checking him out, drinking in the shape of his jaw, the colour of his eyes, his _freckles_ , his fucking _everything_. He looked way better than anything she could’ve come up with and she considered herself an artist with a broad imagination.

He looked just like the Bellamy she knew and she couldn’t believe her luck.

She cleared her throat, scrambling to come up with something to say, when the elevator reached the ground floor and the guy - _stupid perfect Bellamy_ \- got out with merely a nod in her direction.

Courage failed her once again and Clarke groaned. “Good job, Griffin, Raven would be so proud of you.”

Just then she spied the green post-its and her face split in a smile, reading over the words two more times before running out after Bellamy, her chest tight with feelings she couldn’t bear to name.

“Wait,” she shouted after him and tucked her hand in his hoodie’s pocket when he turned around, ignoring his confused expression as she took out his stickies and his pen.

His “What the fuck?” was cut short as she thrust the post-its in his face after writing one short word.  

There, in her neat handwriting was the word _yes_ , the _y_ having the same loop as it did in all her other post-its and Bellamy’s confused expression morphed to something ecstatic, hopeful with a hit of vulnerability under.

“Clarke?” She closed her eyes to enjoy the sound of her name rolling of his lips and nodded her head once, then twice.

“Yeah, hi Bellamy.”

He just laughed and put his arms around her, spinning her around before she could even gasp.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said as he put her down and stepped away, arms at his sides. Arms that she already missed. “So, I believe I owe you a coffee?”

“Lead the way,” Clarke grinned and bumped her shoulder against his, enjoying the little glances he was throwing her.

She had used four and a half sticky pads before she had met him face-to-face, but if you ask her it was well worth the investment.

(The post-its never stopped. Clarke started buying them in bulk, in yellow and green.)

 

 

 

(The day after their impromptu coffee date, a new post-it showed on the elevator’s mirror, right under the two green ones left from Bellamy. This time it was orange in colour.

 

_I know this might be weird and you totally don’t have to accept if you don’t want to_ _  
_ _but about that coffee I still owe you, wanna go out?_

 

_WAIT! Why are the green stickies still here? Please tell me you went out on a date! Please, SOMEBODY.)_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is always welcomed <3


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